“So, what brings you folks to Anchorage?”
“Business,” Jean said crisply, shrugging out of her tailored jacket to reveal a recently pressed, immaculate white blouse. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
Jealous, Logan thought loudly, hoping she would hear him. Jean was mostly a nice person, but she could be a real bitch to other women, even ones who didn’t pose a threat to her precious alpha-female status.
He didn’t really understand it. Scott was on such a tight leash, he wouldn’t dare glance at some waitress. Still, Jeanie could be insecure. And when she got insecure, she got catty.
The waitress set the pitcher and tray down on an empty table, smoothing her own shirt self-consciously. She pulled a pen and pad from her jeans pocket. “D-diet Coke. Yes, ma’am.” She looked over at Ororo.
“Water, please,” the weather witch replied.
Scott chimed in, “Coors Lite and a water for me.”
Logan didn’t like the change in her scent, that nervousness and insecurity now hanging over her, and oddly enough, he found himself extremely pissed at Jean for upsetting some girl he’d only met one minute ago.
“And for you, sir?” the girl queried.
“Don’t call me sir.” He didn’t like the way that sounded, like he was better than her or something. He didn’t like that at all.
“Oh. Um, I’m sorry, si—I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t call me sir.”
Great. Now she smelled even more nervous, not to mention confused. “O-okay. No problem. What would ya like to drink?”
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